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Holiday Trade: Thanksgiving Manmeat


Gavin Rockhard

Copyright 2017


All characters depicted in sexual situations in this publication are eighteen years of age or older.


These stories are about fictional consenting adults engaging in taboo and controversial sexual acts. Nobody involved in the creation of this ebook, including authors, editors and models, support immoral or illegal acts in real life. Cover models are not intended to illustrate specific people and the content does not refer to models' actual acts, identity, history, beliefs or behavior. No characters depicted in this ebook are intended to represent real people.

Martin lay awoke most of the night. He knew he was going to dread tomorrow -- it was Thanksgiving, and he would be spending it with his friend Henrietta. That would have been fine on its own. But her family would be there too, and that promised to be awkward.

Henrietta had not had a relationship with her family until a few months ago, due to an acrimonious divorce that led to her brothers siding with her father and Henrietta siding with her mother. That was why she had practically begged Martin to come along: Henrietta didn't want to be alone. So he tried not to sulk as he trundled off to her car early in the morning on Thanksgiving. He was sleepy and he already disliked her family.

He remained quiet the entire way to Citrus Heights, California. Henrietta was quiet too, either nervous or just listening to the jazz on the radio. He was half-asleep anyway. By the time they pulled into the parking lot, however, Martin was already starting to brighten up.

He had a special skill at finding hot straight guys willing to bend a little on the downlow for the right price, which he could usually come up with. So he thought he might be able to get a man from Henrietta's family: when she said her father was a "military macho muscle" man, she meant it as a bad thing but it made Martin's ears prick up. That was, he thought, the awesome-sex trifecta.

Henrietta's mother had passed away a few years ago, and her father, Albert, had reverted to his bachelor ways after his divorce. He was an ex-Army officer with a tattoo of his unit on his belly -- a fact that Martin saw when Henrietta opened the door and Albert stood there in his boxers, hand in his crotch, scratching his balls.

That was how the Thanksgiving began: with Henrietta screeching, and Albert blearily-eyed glared at his daughter as his dick flopped out of the fly of his boxers. It was meaty and thick and it looked so good Martin's heart skipped a beat. Albert was a barrel-chested man, his fuzzy fur tinged with gray. He casually tucked his dick away in his boxers again.

"Dad! Ohmigod, you are humiliating me! Ohmigod! Is this what you do? You hang out in your drawers?!"

"Mornin', sweetcake."

"Go put some clothes on, Dad!"

He just rolled his eyes and hugged her, much to her chagrin. He shook Martin's hand. Albert had thick fingers and a muscular hand. He squeezed Martin confidently. He winked too.

Was that flirtatious? Martin blushed now, and he looked Albert's chest up and down. He was furry and broad and strapping and he smelled a little of sweat, like he had been working out recently.

"Dad, I can tell you cleaned up, but you should have done the baseboards-"

"Sweetie." Albert grunted. "It looks fine-"

"I know, but I'll just get a sponge-"

Again, Albert rolled his eyes. His ass swayed in his boxers as he followed after his daughter, arguing. Martin stayed there at the door to watching his shoulder muscles flex. Again, Martin got the impression he shook his ass for Martin's benefit. His cheeks were full to bursting out of those paper-thin boxer shorts.

Where do straight guys even find that kind of boxer shorts? So thin you can almost see through them like wet tissue paper. Martin's dick twitched. He wondered if Henrietta had told him to expect Martin. He hadn't seemed surprised to see a stranger. Perhaps he knew Martin was gay and hoped to get sucked off. A lot of military men were like that, in Martin's experience, willing to get sucked off by any man so long as no one else ever found out.

No one else would be here for a little while. But they would be coming soon, and the house was not ready. Martin chuckled under his breath at the sound of Henrietta squealing at the realization that her father had still not put on any pants.

"Of course you have to preheat the oven, Dad! You're crazy!" She came back into the living room. Martin busied himself by putting the cords, remote controls and DVDs out by the TV all into a stack. Henrietta stormed past with a sponge and an all-purpose cleaner. "Dad! Go put pants on! You have to wear pants to Thanksgiving!"

"You're as bad as your mother," he said with a grin. His eyes glanced to Martin, and then up the stairs. He scratched his chest casually, but his hand lingered over his nipple, and his pecs bounced as he aimed himself at Martin's face.

"Did you need some help picking out an outfit?" Martin asked. He was now certain Albert was flirting with him, and he hoped that didn't sound too forced for Henrietta's sake.

She was awfully insistent I come up here. I bet she knew he wanted a piece of male tail on the side. Oh she's a sly hag... Martin stared daggers at her as he followed Albert up the stairs. He didn't mind her bringing him as a sort of a fucktoy to keep her father satisfied, but Martin wished she had told him. What if Alfred had been ugly? That would have been an awkward situation.

"Yeah, uh, what color ain't ya supposed to wear after Labor Day?" Albert asked as they ascended the stairs.

"That's white, darling," Martin said. They were up the stairs now. He pulled down Albert's white boxers to reveal a chunky hairy ass, all muscle and meat and fur. Albert chuckled and stepped out of his boxers without missing a beat. Martin kissed one of his cheeks there in the hall at the top of the stairs.

"Damn, boy, did she bring you just to keep me from getting too ornery?"

"You should provide a gay to service macho military guys at family gatherings. That's in Emily Post. Your daughter is a thoughtful girl," Martin said. "You get sucked off by guys a lot?"

He grunted. "You a take-a-shower before gay or a take-a-shower after gay?"

"After." Martin blushed and laughed. Obviously, he thought, that was a yes: guys who weren't sucked off by gays often would never have known there were those who preferred both showered and unshowered men.

"Gotcha." He went into the bedroom and flopped onto his bed, which was covered in dirty socks and tee shirts with sweat stains. The bed was unmade, but Martin thought no one actually slept here -- Albert probably slept on the couch downstairs most nights. He looked like the drift-off-to-sleep-drunk-on-the-couch kind of divorced man. He flopped his limp dick between his fingers. "Man, I been getting sucked off by gays since we thought callin' 'em faggots was the nice way to say it. When I was at boot camp, they said fag was mean but faggot wasn't."

"That's weird."

"But I ain't mess around with it then. The female tail was plentiful back then. It wasn't till I got assigned to Fort Mackerel in central Alaska, then there wasn't no females around except this one gay Indian fella with lips like silk -- what are you waiting for?" He snorted and chuckled. "My daughter gonna come in anytime, demanding I alphabetize my potatoes or calling my spice rack racist. So let's get this done, we might not have much time." He slapped Martin in the cheek with his dick as Martin leaned over the bed to start sucking. He groaned and scooted closer to the edge.


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